


A Deal with the Queen

by captive_hetalian



Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: F/M, Two Shot, Violence, alastor was the axeman of new orleans, i changed the name tho i didn't want to use any of the real victims, idk if i'll update before rosie is properly introduced, lilith appears at first as one of the victims, so odds are she'll be much different here than she is in the show
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-12
Updated: 2019-11-12
Packaged: 2021-01-29 07:37:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21406567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captive_hetalian/pseuds/captive_hetalian
Summary: Alastor is offered the chance to become the most-feared demon in Hell, second only to Lucifer himself. All he needs to do is help the princess with one of her future projects.
Relationships: Alastor (Hazbin Hotel)/Rosie
Kudos: 20





	A Deal with the Queen

Alastor was not surprised when hot breath bathed the back on his neck.

He was not surprised to hear growling, the sound disrupting the cacophony of music that drifted in through his open window. Humming, Alastor ceased drumming his fingers and slowly stood.

“So soon?” he asked, smile frozen in place when he turned around.

Lisette Henry stood there, hand stroking her hellhound’s exposed and blackened spine. Her head was tilted unnaturally, barely hanging onto her shoulders.

Blood soaked the front of her white nightgown and glued her long hair to her pale face and shoulders. Her lips were thin and nearly white, curving around yellow teeth in a grin as she drank in the fear Alastor fought to hide.

Anger spiked through him, spinning fear in a wild waltz. His face ached with how hard he smiled as he bowed deeply.

“‘In close relationship with the Angel of Death,’ Alastor?” the woman mused.

Her husky voice echoed and wrapped around Alastor, chilling him. His teeth grit at the betrayal of his body as he shivered. His dark eyes were on the floor, but he could feel her smile, feel her hungry look, feel her coming request—demand, spun as a deal.

Alastor had not been ignorant when signing that contract. He’d known exactly what he was doing, and the fear and fame he had sown himself here would pale in comparison with the power he would cultivate without the limitations of God-made flesh.

“Am I to return home, dear Lilith?” he asked, straightening. He clasped his hands behind his back, meeting the demon’s gaze as her eyes shifted to silver.

Her pupils were almond-shaped, like a cat's, and dark red horns grew from her temples and swept back to curve over the crown of her head. The beast by her side growled at the sound of his voice. Glowing yellow dots hung in its empty sockets, and bloodied spit dripped from its jaws and burned the wooden floor. Decomposing flesh hung off its bones, organs simply floating where they were supposed to be.

After patting the hellhound on the snout, Lilith stepped forward and straightened Alastor’s bowtie. He was still dressed in the pinstripe suit from his latest performance, before retiring himself despite his band mates’ fear for Alastor’s safety. He had assured them that he had plenty of jazz records to keep himself safe.

_ "Or maybe blues would fit the mood better,” _ Alastor had laughed.

He had then sung “Hellhound on My Trail” as he walked away.

Brushing away imaginary dirt from Alastor’s shoulder, Lilith asked, “Are you not going to ask what I want from you?”

She rose on the balls on her feet as her arms wrapped around his neck, her head rolling back slightly. She still had to look up to meet his gaze, blood continuing to flow but not staining Alastor’s suit.

Running his thin fingers through hair much silkier than the knotted and bloodied mess suggested, Alastor smirked. “I never push a woman to talk. It should be left to her when to speak and what to speak about.”

Returning the smirk, Lilith rose higher, and her head snapped back into place. She pecked Alastor on the lips and leaving them cold as ice. He fell back into his chair as she stepped back, watching as Alastor tried to catch his breath.

“I’ve always loved flattering bullshit from men.” She twirled around, the nightgown floating up to expose her legs, which were turning thin and not matching the torso sitting upon them.

Her hair grew and grew, brightening to pale blond and bouncing into wavy curls as her skin turned to a color more akin to porcelain, rather than the ash it had been before. Her canine teeth lengthened and sharpened into dangerous points, and the cut around her neck knitted itself closed as she stopped spinning. She was taller, too, as tall as Alastor.

“I do choose,” she intoned, “to state my offer.”

She watched Alastor through her long lashes as his strength finally returned.

“Power,” she said simply, smiling as longing passed over Alastor’s dark eyes. “Unimaginable power that will make other demons cower at the very sound of your voice, the sound of your name passing through lips in hushed whispers. Power to stake a claim in Hell and mark territory as yours, wholly yours, and as a death sentence for any other demon or sinner that even covets it.”

Alastor straightened, and he started drumming his fingers again, this time on his thigh. “And how does a demon die, pray tell?”

“Dante did not get everything wrong,” Lilith replied, tone telling Alastor that she would not elaborate.

“Hmm….” Alastor pushed his raven hair back from his thin face. “How would I hold up my end of this deal? You already own my soul.”

Would the Devil not be able to control him with it?

Or did he not know about this deal the Mother of Demons was making with him?

_ Interesting.  _ Alastor schooled his expression into neutrality.

“I have a daughter,” Lilith replied. “Constantly changing her name, so I won’t bother telling you what she goes by presently.” She kissed the snout of her hellhound when it growled at Alastor, looking hungry. “She’s become  _ obsessed  _ with studying souls and redemption. I hear from Rosie—you remember her, don’t you, dear?”

She smiled at the smirk on Alastor’s face.

Lilith continued, “Rosie tells me it won’t be long before my daughter feels she can turn these studies into practice. Or try to, at least.”

“Redemption.”

“For demons!” Lilith’s laugh was like chimes in a summer’s breeze. “Such a runaway imagination. So much more like her father than either will admit.” She sighed wistfully and went back to stroking her hellhound’s exposed spine. “You can already imagine the sort of reactions she will be receiving.”

“My imaginings do not need to be as wild as your child’s to see it,” Alastor chuckled.

Smiling, Lilith nodded. “You will help her.”

“For power.”

“You wish for more?”

Alastor hummed and walked over to his table, and he put on his monocle as he read through the letters. If he believed in love, he would classify this back-and-forth as such. A crossroad’s demon had no reason to keep contact with him after getting his signature in blood, but here were Rosie’s letters, the browning words written in what Jack the Ripper would call “proper red stuff.”

“Rosie’s help,” Alastor replied, folding the letters and tucking them into the inner pocket of his jacket. “Get her to sign the dotted line, and I will sign right after.”

Grinning, Lilith snapped, laughing when genuine surprise erased Alastor’s smug expression.

There, at the bottom of the contract, was Rosie’s signature in blood.

“You gave your word,” Lilith whispered, and Alastor breathed out a shallow laugh. “All to gain and nothing to lose.”

_ Pascal just rolled over in his grave _ . Alastor smiled again and held up one hand.

Lilith’s nails grew and sharpened, turning into black claws. She nicked his ring finger, the finger said to share a vein with his heart. The cut didn’t stop bleeding until Alastor finished signing, and the contract disappeared.

“Anything else, my lady?” Alastor asked.

“Queen,” she corrected. “And I’d like you to sing for me.” She waved a hand, and a microphone appeared in front of Alastor. “Sing, my friend of the Angel of Death.”

“Now the Angel of Music.”

Alastor took a step forward and grasped the cold microphone stand. He closed his eyes, smiling as the hellhound’s growl spun into the jazz music that drifted into the room. He’d made himself into a god here in New Orleans. People were sure to keep speaking of him decades—centuries—later.

Alastor sang, and Lilith hummed along.

When the song ended, her humming was the last thing he heard.


End file.
